


Sweet like candy in my veins

by sugarboat



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Consensual Possession, Dubious Consent, Knifeplay, M/M, Masochism, Masturbation, Mind fuckery, Other, Sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 19:32:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9457415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarboat/pseuds/sugarboat
Summary: Bill's got a knack for coming up with new games to play.





	

Ford was kneeling, legs spread before a body length mirror, but Ford wasn’t home. Crammed into the stuffy confines of his body, spread like a viscous oil or the invasive roots of a centuries old tree, Bill was the one in charge. His eyes glowed in the dim and flickering light of the candles strewn across the room, and he twisted Ford’s face through various human expressions that, regardless of his efforts, never came across quite right. 

Well, it was all a moot point anyway. Humans went through their short, here-one-blink-and-gone-the-next lives utterly enraptured with themselves, and to a one were incapable of both introspection and extrospection. Take his current skin suit for example: unable to see beyond the blinders of his past, how those deep rooted shackles made him so easy to lead and predict. Another thing humans shared in common – their parents writ out their demise decades before it would come.

“Good thing I didn’t have any!” Bill told himself in Ford’s voice, and then laughed. _Lie_. But who cared? Say it often enough, quick enough, consistent enough, and a truth could become a lie or vice versa. Drown the truth out until it was just another sentence drifting in a sea of white noise. If you were good enough – and Bill was good enough at everything he did – truth warped itself into a concept that was without meaning, empty syllables that echoed out into the void and there expired. 

Eyes – two! _How indulgent_ – curved with amusement and he let Ford’s mouth drop open lasciviously, tongue lolling out and Bill leaned so close to the mirror that its shifting, silvery surface fogged up with each hot puff of breath that left him. Ford was wherever consciousnesses went when they weren’t in the mindscape or floating around the incorporeal spaces of this dimension, and Bill was just about ready to reel him back in. 

Bill closed his mouth again and pulled away, straightened his posture and then slumped it again to mimic the way his nerd slouched through life. Though he had to admit – Ford had been standing a little taller in recent months. Hands were placed palm down on his thighs, brushed over the downy and vaguely prickling hairs there before settling, unnaturally large thanks in part to Ford’s unnatural addition. Bill twitched his pinkies and grinned, grinned, grinned. And then frowned. It just wasn’t the same.

When Fordsy was in charge, so often dour and intense – Bill could replicate _that_. But those smiles his Sixer gave him, why, they breathed new life into this squishy and expertly sculpted face. Wider wasn’t right, more teeth wasn’t right – he scrunched up his eyes and smacked his cheeks, and still his simulacrum of _happy, gleeful, enthralled_ just fell flat. Bill slapped his hands back down on his thighs, giggling at the way his muscles bunched up in automatic reflex beneath the harsh touch. At the sharp, ringing clap, a sound that died so quickly in the room it might never have existed at all.

Here-one-blink, gone-the-next. But who cared?

It took something like a fish hook to drag Ford’s mind from such dark depths as it resided, and all of a sudden Bill was feeling claustrophobic, acutely aware of how they were shuffled together in one being’s meat, forced into such close proximity. He could feel Ford’s mind, sluggish and thick, and Bill focused their eyes on his reflection in the mirror, waiting, just waiting, for his puppet to catch up.

“Bill…?” Wow, talk about surreal, feeling and watching Ford’s flesh moving without his say-so. And since Bill was looking, he knew Ford was looking, both of them staring at his mouth, and Ford licked his lips. “What’s going on?”

“I thought we’d play a little game!” Bill gave him an inch and Ford’s gaze darted around, skittering nervous across his body – a red flush both of them could feel creeping over his cheeks, down his neck – and then flicking from one carefully arranged item to the next.

“What,” Ford paused to swallow, and Bill made them watch the exaggerated outline of his Adam’s apple bob, “what kind of game?” 

In anyone else wouldn’t that question be dipped in dread, coated like those candies Ford hated so much? (But Bill liked them, and so Ford said _go ahead_ , and then Bill had made sure to eat them until him stomach hurt, and gave Ford his body back while his teeth and tongue were still cloyingly sweet, just to watch him grimace.) Not his Fordsy. Just confusion, and the stirring of excitement in the deep pit of his stomach. Bill smiled, and it looked more believable. 

“A fun one! What other kind is there!” Here Bill let their eyes droop half-lidded and watched their flushed face and tensed their muscles against the pull of Ford wanting to squirm and hide. His fingers trembled. “Are you ready to play?” 

Cold and biting panic like an ice cube melting down the boney bumps of his spine, and Fords’ eyes widening.

“Shouldn’t we discuss the, uh, rules first?” 

“Such a stickler!” Bill chuckled, and it wasn’t clear if that tight coil of panic was winding itself up or down. “But it’s not that kind of game.” 

“Oh,” was all Ford said, but he didn’t need to blow air through his throat for Bill to hear the frantic doubts that raced through his mind. 

“Wanna know what it’s called?” A question that was more like a dangling rope, just long enough for Ford loop around his neck. 

“What is it called?” And so thoughtful, he always did. Grin, grin, grin, and that, of all things, was what eased the tension clawing desperately at Ford’s mind. (What was that sound? In the background? Bill laughing himself sick.)

“Which is it!” His cheeks almost hurt.

“Which is what?” If minds could be touched, Ford’s would be burning with how his thoughts raced.

“You’re mine, right?” The seeming non-sequitur caught Fordsy off guard, and Bill took the opening to begin dragging their hands, slowly, gently up the firm flesh of their thighs, fingers digging in rhythmically. Drew them up and ghosted over the curve of their inner thighs, thumbs dipping into the crooks of their ball-and-socket junctions and up further, following the fine and darkly colored trail of hair up his abdomen. 

“O-of course I am, Bill,” came out breathy and cheap and disgustingly earnest. His cock twitched.

“Good!” And with a loud crack and stinging, radiating pain, their hands were back on Ford’s thighs. Bill could feel the flesh on his thighs growing hot and puffy, and it felt weirdly tight. Ford sucked in a breath and a tremble shook their frame and seemed to end in their groin. “So you won’t begrudge me a bit of, say, tinkering, would you?”

It was like being on a rollercoaster – burning, simmering heat one second and the next his whole body doused with an ice bucket. 

“Tinkering?” Ford kept his voice firm. It wasn’t enough to convince Bill, who could and did peer into the pathetic core of his being and watched it thrash and curl. “What did you do?” 

“Oh, nothing serious – or permanent! Just crossed a couple wires here and there, turned some screws, loosened a couple bolts; I bet you’ll hardly even be able to tell the difference!” His poor puppet was desperately unsettled now. “So! Are you ready to play?”

“I…” Some corner of his mind had to be screaming at him by now. Mistake, mistake, Ford had made a mistake. It was quashed, or it never existed, and it felt like a fine thread between Bill’s fingers, a thin and delicate neck stretched out and waiting for him to snap. “How do we play?” 

“It’s easy, IQ! _We_ do something, _you_ say whether it was painful or pleasurable!” Wound up again, and Bill lifted their right hand and splayed it across their sternum, where the end of Ford’s sixth finger rested between the groove of two of his ribs, on the bit of skin and muscle that pushed outward on every heartbeat, and his thumb and index finger were curled over the thick curving bones of his collar. “You trust me, don’t you?”

Thud. Thud. Thud. _Hearts don’t lie, Sixer._

“I trust you,” Ford said. “But, are you sure-”

“There’s nothing to worry about! I wouldn’t hurt you!” Bill reassured. “And more importantly, _you_ wouldn’t hurt you, would you?” 

Ford’s hands curled into fists and he remained quiet. Bill took charge of them again. 

“Here, why don’t I show you?” Off from his chest, Bill reached out and grasped the handle of a kitchen knife that he was at least 75% sure Ford had never actually used for cooking. His eyes met his reflection’s as he brought it up, sharp pointed tip aimed towards the ceiling, and casually pricked the pad of his index finger against its end. A short inhale, breath seized in their chest. “Well?”

“Pain!” Ford blurted out, and then one of them brought the finger to their mouth, to lave at and suck the welling drop of blood off its surface. 

“See, what did I say? Easy!” Bill dropped the knife, enjoying its disruptive clatter. 

This time, he let Ford wriggle and made them both watch as his weight shifted from side to side. He pulled their hand away from their mouth, barely slicked with saliva, and had it start up again at his hips. They watched its progress as it moved up, along his side and then sliding towards the middle of his chest, and they watched their chest hitched beneath their nails, blunt and dragging. Up the hollow dip in the midline of his body and then racking abruptly over his nipple.

“P-pleasure,” Ford sighed. 

“Right again,” Bill said. Their hand crawled, fingers inching upward like a spider’s limbs, up his neck and cupped his own face. Ford leaned into the touch, eyes slipping shut. Bill brushed their calloused thumb over his bottom lip, and their fingers crooked and poised and dug into the pressure points along the fine line of jaw. 

And his left hand reached outward, seeming blind, and hovered above the picturesque flame of one of the candles. He lowered it, less even than inch by inch, until he could feel the heated prickling of it over the thin layers of their palm and then lower still, and Ford spread their legs and moaned against his own fingers.

“Pleasure.”

“Wrong!” Bill kept their hand there until Ford opened their eyes and panicked, ripping their hand away. Even so, his cock jutted into the air. Shaking, Ford held his hand before their eyes, looking at the bright red and shiny splotch on the soft skin of his inner hand. It was going to blister in just a few hours, Bill knew knew knew. 

“B-Bill,” Ford started, but couldn’t finish as Bill took back over and pulled their injured hand to his mouth, licking and mouthing against the tender flesh. Their hips gave an aborted thrust in the air.

“Too much already? Come on, Fordsy, we only just started.” Ford’s jaw tensed and he looked down, feeling an ache that scurried throughout his body.

“Didn’t I lose?”

“Aw, I won’t hold it against you!” Bill said. “Best two out of three, what do you say?” He pulled their hands away to rest, neutral, on their thighs again.

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt…”

“That’s the spirit!” Bill clenched their fist, let their nails dig in and watched the ripple of muscles tensing in a frantic wave down their shared body. “Close your eyes.”

There was no hesitation – Ford’s eyes slid shut. Bill moved their hands upward again, kneading at tense muscles. Turning at his stomach, nails gliding over his flesh, Ford sighed and relaxed into them. They traveled on and pushed at the taut skin of his chest, dug into the meat of his shoulders, and once his fingers began to brush over the sensitive flesh of his neck, their touch switched from light and pleasant to bruising, burning. Fingertips like knives that slipped through his dermis and left paralyzing trails in their wake. 

“Pain! Bill, st-stop!” Bill cupped their jaw with a hand that felt made of hot coals and the lightest touch of his thumb over their lip felt crushing, bruising, mashing. He gave Ford just enough control to jerk their head around, flex and twitch their body. 

“Wrong again!” Hands settled back to zero, resting on thighs again, and Ford opened his eyes, running over and over the length of his neck, his mouth, expecting to see some evidence of the damage Bill had inflicted. Of course, there was nothing. 

“You know what? I’m feeling generous,” Bill said. “Let’s go until you get one right!” And he brought their left hand up and bit into the center of their palm, and one of them moaned against the tender skin between their teeth, and one of them rutted into the air like a mindless beast. 

“Wait, I don’t-” Interrupted by a lavish lick to his palm, already raw and with interstitial fluids beginning to pool beneath the thin layer of skin stretch taut over his muscles and bones. “I don’t know, if this is, such a good idea.” 

“Well, you seem to be enjoying yourself!” Bill wrapped a hand, loose and gentle, around their cock and Ford practically howled, back bowing and hunching into himself. It felt like a thousand thousand sharp, needle-like teeth lancing through him. “Oh, spoke too soon, huh?” 

Bill stroked their hand up and down, and Ford was babbling in his mind, locked-in from Bill keeping his mouth occupied. He twisted their hand the way he knew Ford _loved_ and tears actually leaked out from their eyes. 

“Just name it right and you can win, we can stop,” Bill said, running their hand up and down Ford’s length. “Pleasure or pain, Fordsy?” 

“Ple- please,” he said instead, and Bill let go of his cock to roll and cup his sack instead, and Ford jerked spastically. 

“Which is it, Fordsy?” His left hand, tight and swollen from its burn, wrapped around the handle of the discarded kitchen knife, and Bill let its tip just barely dig into the flesh of their thigh. When he dragged it upwards, it left an angry red line in its wake, and he pressed it deeper, until thick drops of blood welled up at inconsistent intervals and then until viscous blood ran freely and he jabbed its point against the hard bone of Ford’s hip. “Which is it?”

Pain radiated from his cock, where Bill kept his pace, even and steady, stinging insects and dissolving acids, and Ford leaned into the knife’s edge as it ran up his leg, dug into his pelvis and continued onwards. He could almost visualize the blade ticking closer and closer, and Ford found himself longing for it to reach his dick, could nearly imagine the overwhelming pleasure that must come with it splitting him apart. 

“B-both? Bill, please,” _Bill_ he wanted to say at least once more, but the air was stolen from his lungs. They dropped the knife, and instead fingers wormed between the loose flaps of skin that framed the long cut Bill had left behind. They squirmed inside and parted, and Ford felt something, somewhere, tearing, fragile connective lines breaking, and he thrust his hips forward and came, eyes rolling back and the sensations across his body blurring into one heady, indistinguishable mix. 

Bill found himself expelled from Ford’s form and laughed. The human slumped down, barely able to support himself on shivering limbs.


End file.
